


Nebula

by athina39 (setosdarkness)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-15
Updated: 2018-05-15
Packaged: 2019-05-07 08:38:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14667393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/setosdarkness/pseuds/athina39
Summary: A popular, prize-winning scientist is reported to have committed suicide. While the world bemoans the loss, the underground organizations turn to each other to pinpoint the cause of the scientist's death. Especially since each prominent organization has commissioned her to develop a super-weapon before her death...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> repost of original fic originally posted in my lj [[1](https://shinigami39.livejournal.com/76395.html)] [[2](https://shinigami39.livejournal.com/77275.html)]

☆ **NEBULA** \- burst! zero ☆   
★ the _double helix_ ★  
  
  
*  
  
It's on every newspaper, on every news channel, on every news website.   
  
Funny how someone's death is enough to bond people together in a single search for information—at this very moment, stations are lining up programs that will focus on the life of one person and the consequential grief of those involved with her life—at this very moment, every single person who made a connection with her: condominium neighbour, classmate, colleague... all of them are saying a million and one things, _good_ things about the person whose death has left the world in an uproar.  
  
She made her name a fixture in a lot of people's lives—housewives, students, politicians, mafia—and she truly shone during her life.  
  
She was an exemplary model of what a human being should be: outgoing and popular, knowledgeable and approachable, filled with dozens of ideas on how to make the world a better place. She developed a method to hasten the growth of trees, paved the way for accelerated reforestation. After that, she moved on to solving the plague that spread from one person to the next, the plague that left its victims crippled and atrophied and alive but _powerless_. Her brilliance didn't end there, for she then tackled the issue of depleted fuels and opened the doors to mass-production of self-sustaining power plants.  
  
She _shone_.  
  
And now she is dead.  
  
From suicide, according to the initial examination by the police.  
  
Everyone wept and wailed because she was a _star_ , and stars weren't supposed to die in just a few years' time.  
  
She _shone_.  
  
And now she was dead.  
  
*  
  
"She's my flatmate," a distraught woman says to the camera, persistently hangs on to the present tense, "she's always been so... _happy_ ," and thank goodness she's not wearing any mascara because from the rivers streaming down her cheeks, she would look like something out of a horror movie. "So... happy and _alive_."  
  
*  
  
"It's definitely a hit," Ronaldo says, gulping down the last few drops of his whiskey, eyes watching the other people in the dimly-lit room.  
  
"Everybody knows that," a lady in an all-red ensemble says snidely, tucking in a dagger inside the ruffles of her gown. "Don't tell me you believed it's a suicide?"  
  
"O-O-Of course I _knew_ it wasn't suicide!"  
  
A chuckle that's nine-parts dry ice and zero-parts amusement resounds. "You shouldn't make fun of _my_ partner too much, Linda."  
  
Linda's cherry-red lips curl into a displeased snarl but it soon fades away, faster than the disappearance of a plasma-shrunk-gun down her cleavage. She swallows down her comment about the possessive 'my' in Cedric's speech and instead looks over her appearance in the full-length mirror in front of her.  
  
They're infiltrating a place that screams 'elite secondary school' to everyone else except fellow mafia members—and if the intelligence leaked to them is to be trusted, the so-called gifted children are trained not only in academics, but also in *extra-curriculars*.  
  
"We're moving out in forty-three minutes' time," Cedric coldly reminds his fellow assassins, before stopping by Ronaldo's spot on the bar and gently pulls away Ronaldo's fingers from the bottles of alcohol surrounding him.  
  
It almost makes Linda want to protest about the difference in treatment, but she's not interested in knowing further about Cedric and Ronaldo's terrifyingly close relationship.  
  
Her role here is not to gossip, but to destroy people, after all.  
  
*  
  
"She definitely was an upstanding citizen," the landlord testifies to the investigators with weighty conviction, "she definitely wasn't involved in shady businesses."  
  
*  
  
"The Dragons were probably sore losers and decided to kill her," Seventh Alice muses, dangling her stockings-clad legs from atop the clocktower, the moonlight making her pale skin appear marble-like. She's assigned to watch over the West Area, since the Looking Glass predicted intruders tonight. She hopes they come from the West Area; she's been longing to try out her new _toys_ and the Queen always imposes those pesky rules about limiting their powers and such.  
  
"Hey, Seventh," a gruff voice speaks out from behind, yawns of sleep roughening the voice further, "if that bastard Ronaldo comes, I'll take 'im down, got it?"  
  
"You want Cedric to sever your arm again?" Seventh licks her lips, remembering ( _tasting_ ) the fountain of blood from last time. "You never learn, do you, Ninth?"  
  
Ninth Alice's fists tremble with pent-up rage as he rasps, "I'll kill them dead. I'll kill those damn fags dead!"  
  
"Hmmm," Seventh's gaze is focused on the area she's supposed to guard, not because she takes her job seriously, but because she just can't wait for the fun to start. It's not that enjoyable to listen to Ninth's jealousy-filled rants; she has already teased him enough about having too much tension with Cedric, after all.  
  
She hears the heavy flap of the Gryphon's wings before she spots the majestic beast swoop down from the sky. She ignores Seventh's yelp when his hair is messed up by the gusts of wind, as well as his yells about the Gryphon dirtying the just-swept courtyard with its disgusting feathers.  
  
"Any news from the Looking Glass?"  
  
"I'm here as back-up," Fifth Alice stands on the Gryphon's mane, his small body in sharp contrast against the hybrid's bulky figure. "They will arrive in ten minutes from the West-North border."  
  
"HAHAHAHA—Ronaldo will _pay_ for his group's actions!"  
  
"...Ronaldo...? As in the Dragon's heir?" Fifth tilts his head questioningly. It's an expression that appears deceptively adorable. Seventh knows all about this cute schoolboy act. Just looking at Fifth Alice's childish smile and boyish face, nobody would be prepared to face him and his monster _pets_.  
  
"He does have some unfinished business with the heir and his _partner_ ," Seventh says in mock-resignation, but really, her mind is elsewhere, already choosing and failing to choose between which toy to use to make the enemies _bleed_.  
  
"Well," the youngest student in the Special Academy looks speechless for a moment. "The Queen asks for us to keep the rose garden _clean_."  
  
Which means no blood splatters or random flying internal organs in the area. That Queen really drives Seventh crazy. Which makers her wonder just why does she keep on serving as the Queen's right-hand.  
  
But wondering isn't really such a good idea when there's an enjoyable red party to be had, so all Seventh says to her companions, as they prepare to face the other mafia group, is a gleeful: "Off with their heads!"  
  
*  
  
"She *never* told us about the details of her inventions," a colleague at the Institute of Nanotechnolgy at Burwitsz confesses, "but she often described her views of the future. A world of peace and smiles."   
  
A sniffle.   
  
"She truly was a special woman."  
  
*  
  
"AAAAH—I HATED HER, HATED HER—AHHH!"  
  
"Can't we finish soon?" She adjusts her glasses, a black '10' on visible from the back of her hand. "I can't read my book with all these noises."  
  
"You're hardly helping," Nina retorts, the '9' appearing and disappearing with each swish of her short skirt. She steps down on the scientist's head, the heel of her boots colliding with the man's nose.  
  
"We're not interested in hunting down her murderer," their Leader intones, his '1' carved into his back but despite the number's invisibility at the moment, all of the assembled soldiers know and bow to the other's authority. "We just need to find out what happened to her promised invention."  
  
"She must have taken our organization's money and ran off with it," the tenth strongest soldier surmises, snapping her book shut. "She probably couldn't finish the invention and then—"  
  
"Her genius regarding inventions is definitely real," Suey's voice is heavy and threatening, and everyone can feel her glare even though her gaze is focused on the movements of her fingers over her sword.   
  
"HA! Aren't you just saying that because you're the one who invested on her?"  
  
"Siobhan," Heins warns the seventh soldier, who settles back on her seat with a huff.  
  
Heins then shifts his attention back to the scientist in the middle of their torture room. He doesn't exactly enjoy torturing people, but knowing the status of the invention they commissioned the now-dead scientist takes top priority. As the leader of the Hassen Family's Knights, it's his job to make sure everything works smoothly. Even if it includes disciplining his subordinates. Even if it includes torturing people.  
  
"We need access to her restricted projects laboratory," Heins speaks in soft, even tones. The other soldiers hasten to remove themselves from Heins' proximity, since his eyes are glowing already and his ability is going to be unleashed any moment now. "You will tell us that, won't you, Mr. Scientist?"  
  
"Che," she snorts disinterestedly, but behind her thick glasses, the tenth's eyes are watching Heins' power intently.  
  
"You're awfully interested in Heins' power, huh?" Siobhan twists the ends of her pigtails on her fingers absentmindedly, but there's always a purpose in her actions. She managed to rise into power in unprecedented speed and there's already talk that she's going to overtake the bedridden Andrei's Number 3 position in the next ranking.  
  
"It _is_ interesting." And it's the truth.  
  
Siobhan frowns a little at the tone. "He is admirable that way."  
  
Jess almost laughs at that attempt to lure her in, but even if she's the tenth, she isn't so foolish as to say anything remotely related to admiring Heins. It's no secret to anybody that Siobhan admires the leader in a terribly unhealthy manner, after all.  
  
Over the sounds of the scientist's agonized screams, Jess remarks, "Well, I'm just the number ten."   
  
And it's a lie.  
  
*  
  
"We've had our differences," a woman with thick glasses that add a couple more years to her age remarks stiffly, "but we've always been civil to each other."  
  
She adjusts her glasses, pushes it up her nose. Her hands have blue veins in them, a sign of aging. She worries her chapped lips between her teeth before speaking up again. "We haven't been close at all, but I don't think there's anyone who'd want to kill her."  
  
It's all a lie.  
  
But if the ones who can dispute her statement have all disappeared—then who can tell the truth apart from the lie?  
  
*  
  
"Your death is number one on internet searches today," she mentions conversationally over the silence of wailing cicadas and fluttering fireflies and voiceless ghosts, "it's been that way for the past month."  
  
The grave with the name of the world's most successful scientist doesn't reply, doesn't protest when the speaker kicks the tombstone over and over again. As soon as the kicking starts, it ends, and the speaker sighs, cold breath even colder than the chilly evening air.  
  
She pauses for a moment, a still doll in the middle of a graveyard smelling of decaying earth and living nothingness. To an outsider, she looks like a deranged enemy entranced with the idea of kicking her nemesis' grave, but nobody could see the way her eyes are busy monitoring the actions of her puppets from her thick supervision glasses.  
  
There is Linda, who is hiding behind one pillar, red gown doused with strong perfume tattered and scattered around the Special Academy's grounds. She's separated from Ronaldo and Cedric, but that's for her own good, because Cedric has proved to be beyond paranoid when it comes to worrying about his partner's safety. It's only a matter of time before Cedric realizes that the Linda that joined their team five years ago has long been gone and has long been replaced by a pretty, pretty doll.  
  
There is the Queen, who is holed up inside her room with the Looking Glass, watching the predictions of the future from all directions. She's not a profoundly useful piece, but she's powerful because despite her shortcomings, she manages to successfully captivate the students' loyalty. It's a good thing the Seventh has an unyielding devotion on the Queen, so she doesn't question the Queen's faults and fumbles. Right now, the Queen is leading her soldiers to an all-out clash with the Dragons, and it's only a matter of time before they start wiping each other out completely.  
  
And then there is *her*.  
  
She flicks her wrists and the '10' appears and disappears—nothing but a cheap magic trick—like the way she weaves in-and-out of people's lives.  
  
The unfinished invention is now in her hands and it will take her a few more weeks before she can study how to assemble the rest of the machinery. Time travel has never been her area of interest—aside from musings in-between bites of lunch about the what-ifs of their past—but this is an invention that caused the death of someone irreplaceable.   
  
She adjusts her glasses again and when she walks out of the graveyard, her face is that of the one that has been interviewed over and over as the so-called rival of the most popular scientist of the century.  
  
It's a lie.  
  
But the ones who can say that they were the closest of friends have all died, so it's not like they can refute the interviews anymore.  
  
*  
*  
*  
  
"Well, our goal is to make a self-sustaining superpower country," a young voice speaks to the camera attached to the desktop monitor.   
  
A snort comes from beside the speaker, followed by a dry, "I'll just focus on arranging your appointments, Madam President."  
  
"If I know, you'll be the one who'll end up being the kill-em-all knight~"  
  
"Well, that's not a bad offer," the reply sounds deadpan, but they both know that they will surely protect each other.  
  
"Then, we shall be the mightiest undefeated duo EVER!"  
  
"Uh-huh."  
  
"Be more enthusiastic!"  
  
"Yeah, yeah~"  
  
And they were both smiling.  
  
*  
*  
*  
  
She _shone_.  
  
And now she is dead.  
  
*  
  
But her knight is here to avenge her.  
  
No matter what.  
  
[ **end** ]


	2. Chapter 2

☆ **NEBULA** \- burst! one ☆  
★ the _hourglass_ ★  
  
*  
  
He hates—no, _despises_ —the so-called times of peace.  
  
After the sixth major war has ravaged the remains of the charred earth—not even after a year since the fifth war's treaty has been signed by all the states, countries and organizations in the entire world—every single one is practically anticipating a seventh war to break out the fragile threads holding together humanity.  
  
The country-system that he studied for their Middle Ancient History class is now obsolete, as the politics of the entire world is plunged to a massive disarray.  
  
He's a little bit thankful that he's living in a more stable sector but that stability is all but a pretty word to describe a state where there's a strong ruler present in a sea of people looking for even just a smidgen of safety.  
  
His face is sullen as he ponders these things, the thoughts in his head jumbling together and chattering together, encased by the background noise of _zzzzttttttd-d-d-destroyttt_. He glares at the painting behind the supervisor briefing him regarding the special program he's about to be subjected to. It's those machineries' fault that there's a persistent noise in his head, a noise that appeared ever since five superior plasma cannon blasts flooded the entire world with some sort of shit molecules that apparently screw with someone's brain and fuck this so-called peace that gives everyone a decent excuse to round up orphans, kids, anyone, everyone and school them into becoming soldiers that will die in the war's frontlines and will be buried in row upon row of graves where nobody but goddamn ghosts will visit—  
  
"—we'll escort you to your new home."  
  
He bites his lip and feels satisfaction when he tastes the tangy-bitter blood. Whatever shit they said about his body now halfway away from mundane humanity, he still bleeds. He's still _human_ , albeit more awesome and more monstrous than before.  
  
But he's still human.  
  
He shrugs off the hands of the guards that curl around his shoulders and elbows. He stomps on the floor, feeling the floorboards' molecules whine and snap just the tiniest bit.  
  
He snarls at the guard that snaps a tracking bracelet on his wrist, a burdensome reminder of his new status as the dog of this roleplay-monarchy, a chain that binds him to this elegant-looking walls that house the ambitious ALICE Project.  
  
He decides that he *really* hates this so-called times of peace.  
  
*  
  
His body has long stopped following the rules of aging, but he still keeps track.  
  
It's supposed to be his twenty-first birthday today, even though his muscles are at his prime and his stamina is that of an athletic teenager's.  
  
There's palpable tension within the classrooms and simulation centers; he wishes he can yell at them and shake them out of their distress. But he can't, because he's scared shitless himself, because there's a countdown on everyone's heads, and the countdown is especially loud in his.  
  
The background noise of _zzzzttttttd-d-d-destroyttt_ is drowned out by the ticking down of seconds and hours until the day they will all be examined. The results of the three years of being held captive in this facility, away from the filters of fights erupting over each square meter of territory, will be judged by scientists with glinting glasses and machineries without hearts.  
  
And there will be one question that will resound in that examination room where his body's functions and limitations and potential will be displayed on unfeeling monitors:  
  
" _Are you fit to be an Alice_?"  
  
*  
  
He had a name: a meaningful mixture of letters and sounds, a label to a young child that entered the grand carousel of life in the midst of war, a *name* that he'd like to think was chosen lovingly and carefully to suit him.  
  
But that was before—before he was scavenged by the now-Empire of Wonderland's troops from the fallen rubble, before he was admitted to the Supersoldier ALICE Project, before he aced his examinations.  
  
_Ninth_.  
  
He is now the Ninth Alice and all other names are meaningless to him.  
  
*  
  
Being an ALICE definitely has its perks.  
  
For one, he is not required to attend the basic training that consisted of swinging various weaponry while focusing all of their special plasma veins into synchronicity. It's boring as hell and it's held at special hypobaric chambers which is just annoying and training starts at a god-forsaken time of _five_ in the morning.  
  
He's about to mentally list out the different pros to being an ALICE—aside from the obvious recognition of his prowess—but his thoughts are halted by the sound of familiar footsteps.  
  
(He doesn't want to think *why* those footsteps are familiar because that's just threading on very unpleasant territory...)  
  
But anyway, he's right and not even five seconds later, he spots a young man—with a body similar to him; no not their builds, because his muscles are more defined and awesome, but rather, their bodies have both been tickered with by the ALICE Technology Division—but way younger than him in age.  
  
A lot of people forget that, Second's *real* age, but he doesn't; he keeps track of Second's age, like he keeps track of Second's achievements and growth in the ALICE Program.  
  
Records here in Wonderland—and even more so in the "secure" vaults of the ALICE Castle (aptly named Pool of Tears)—are far from what one could call trustworthy. It is those records that label the Second Alice as someone who has reached thirty years of age, but he knows that the young man is not even fifteen.  
  
Not even fifteen, yet he's easily the strongest Alice (unless you count the First Alice whose presence is greatly debated and sought after). Not even fifteen, yet he can block all of his peers' attacks and incapacitate him for _days_ after their training scuffles.  
  
Not even fifteen, yet he effortlessly captured his hear— _interest_.  
  
*  
  
They're rivals, that's what would anyone say.  
  
But they're also friends—which many would find mind-boggling, given the amount of property damage they cause and the amount of injuries they suffer at each other's hands.  
  
Or at least, that's what Ninth ( _wants_ ) keeps on believing.  
  
*  
  
Or maybe they really aren't anything except for fellow soldiers that fulfill the Queen's selfish orders and the Looking Glass' accurate predictions, except for fellow soldiers that shared the same breathing space while fighting on the same campaigns?  
  
There's an explosion near the North edge of the courtyard. Ninth can feel the earth moan at the abuse of cement and bricks and debris raining upon it. He can already _see_ the Queen's enraged face at the sorry state of her royal courtyard. He can already _feel_ the backbreaking pain of their punishment for allowing dirt to sully Wonderland's capital.  
  
He doesn't mind the punishment actually.  
  
As long as he'll suffer through it with Second—  
  
Second, who's wearing that artificial body that screamed 'veteran soldier' to anyone but him; Second, who's wearing that expression of icy coldness that slowed down the blood in his arteries.  
  
Bodies of fellow Alice complete the displeasing state of the courtyard and Second is adding more dismembered limbs to the growing pile. Ninth manages to croak out a distress yell to Seventh, who has a deranged look in her eyes.  
  
Seventh doesn't listen to him, but she maybe she listens to the sound of screams of soldiers she has left behind when she went on and became an Alice in record time, because she moves away from Second just before the traitor evaporates the area she occupied just a few moments before.  
  
Ninth almost wishes that there's a similar tinge of insanity in Second's eyes.  
  
There's none.  
  
Second, who's wearing a new name even though he should have thrown his a long-long-long time ago. Second, who's now slowly advancing towards him.  
  
He can't defend, because his left arm is twisted to a nasty little spiral, because his right arm has a steel pipe lodged in the middle, because his healing abilities are taking too long to have noticeable progress, because Seven _is his friend_.  
  
Jabberwocky swooped down like a hero, despite its sickly-demonic face and crimson-black scales, physically blocking Second's attack.  
  
Fifth's childish smile shines chillingly amidst the corpses prostrate on the ground; the largest monster in his collection, the Jabberwocky, whines and cries when assaulted with Second's continuous attacks. The Fifth doesn't pay it any heed—whether as a display of confidence in his pet or as a display of careless cruelty—and instead offers a helping hand to him.  
  
Ninth swallows hard; it's obvious that Fifth is mocking the uselessness of his hands, but it's even more obvious that they will all die in Second's hands if they don't get their shit together. Ninth practically crawls closer to enter Fifth's energy field; the moment his knees reach the other's shoes he feels a jolt of energy surge throughout his body. Ninth's heavy-lidded eyes can still see the Jabberwocky's face contorted in its wails overhead, can still see the faint glow of the healing Eaglet perched on the Fifth's shoulder.  
  
The Jabberwocky gives one last cry before it disappears into beads of plasma, before it collapses into the air.  
  
Ninth swallows again, because everything looked ten times dirtier and more miserable since five minutes ago. Upon dozens of Alice selected and hundreds prepared as back-up, only the three of them remain and it's only too obvious that Second is way stronger than them.  
  
The three of them should put aside their differences and annoyances and work together—  
  
"Hee! "  
  
Seventh's eyes are dilated, insanity practically pouring out of her every limb, her aura even more unstable than Second's. Her hands are glowing though, with a magic that is definitely not part of their training curriculum, and she catapults another body part powered by dark magic towards Second.  
  
There's definitely something strange with Seventh's magic, because Second is coughing up blood when the severed trunk hits his shield aura and crumbles to dust.  
  
"That _witch_ ," Fifth murmurs dangerously and it suddenly makes sense, Seventh's strange but powerful magic.  
  
Second backs away from them; leaps toward the highest ground available, which is the remainder of the courtyard's gates.  
  
As though to end a chapter of a nightmare, the sky cracks to the tune of brittle thunderclaps, and a mechanical dragon descends. Only it's now to end Ninth's nightmare, because it's from the powerful organization called Dragon, one of the strongest networks in the underground dealings that has withstood all the wars.  
  
It makes sense now, which is a surreal feeling, because he's so used to not understanding anything at all.  
  
The Dragon is here to steal the strongest Alice and they couldn't do anything about it.  
  
Second isn't doing anything about it.  
  
But Ninth still stretches out his hand, even though it's not healed, even though it's still stuck in that grotesque twisted position, even though Second isn't even looking at him.  
  
The dragon disappears into the rumbling sky, along with the Second Alice.  
  
*  
*  
*  
  
"Do you still remember your name?"  
  
"..."  
  
"Oho! The oh-so-great Second Alice can't even remember his name? What a lose—mphhhh!"  
  
Ninth makes a disgusted face after rubbing his lips furiously. "Seriously, what kind of a lame move is shoving me to a pillo—ughhhhh!"  
  
Second's face is still stuck in that stoic mode, but there's a light smile there. It's barely noticeable, but to a very awesome and observant rival, it's very easy to spot.  
  
"It's Lewis."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"My name." Second's voice is very small and serene and in very strong contrast against his fearsome attacks.  
  
"Cedric," Ninth returns with a grin, lifting the pillow that has a tiny imprint of drool from earlier and hitting Second's head with it.  
  
"I didn't ask for your name," Second is quick to point out, and there's definitely laughter in his silver eyes, even if he's disgustingly patting his black hair down after tossing the pillow away.  
  
"It's my name so make sure you don't forget it, okay?!"  
  
A stolen moment in-between training matches and magical studies, in-between wars and disagreements that drove everyone to insanity, in-between the ongoing scuffles for the title of the strongest Alice.  
  
Second's smile is born at that moment.  
  
"Okay."  
  
*  
*  
*  
  
"Commencing memory optimization in 120 seconds."  
  
The ALICE Project's technology stretches even to allowing the developed neurons to remove irrelevant data. It's a shame that Miss Brilliant Scientist didn't help out with the optimizer until now—it could have prevented the tragedy that caused the Second Alice to go haywire and berserk. Of course Miss Scientist doesn't know that the optimizer is going to be used on them, without even a trial run, nor does she know anything real about the ALICE Project.  
  
It's better that way.  
  
The Empire of Wonderland managed to rise from its carcass-filled wasteland into an even-more magnificent organization and it managed to recruit even more ALICE 'candidates'. It managed to upgrade its technology at record speed, which means there are lesser deaths due to 'research accidents' now.  
  
Ninth wonders, what will he forget once this operation is over? They say that personal memory wouldn't be touched but these aren't trustworthy guys who could be trusted to recognize memories that shouldn't ever be tampered with.  
  
And more importantly, Ninth wonders, what did Second forget?  
  
"Commencing memory optimization in 3... 2... 1. Operation start!"  
  
*  
  
"Are you ready for the mission briefing?" Seventh asks with a mischievous smile. She's munching on some lollipop, making her voice sound a bit weird. She never managed to learn the basic etiquette of DON'T SPEAK WHEN EATING THOSE DAMN SWEET LOLLIPOPS. Ninth can feel rage rattling from inside of him again.  
  
"Of course I am," Ninth retorts gruffly, quickening his pace.  
  
Seventh is still smiling that disgusting smile. "Ready to crush the Dragons?"  
  
Something about it makes the rage inside of him scream obscenities. Maybe it's because her lollipop breath is annoying. Maybe it's her goddamn smile. Maybe it's—well, there can be a million and one reasons to hate Seventh Alice.  
  
" _Yes_ ," he answers instead and his heart skips a beat.  
  
*  
*  
*  
  
In a fortress located far away, the Head of the Dragon introduces two people whose fate will become tightly intertwined.  
  
"From now on, you will guard my son, Ronaldo."  
  
"..."  
  
"Oi, are you listening, you Alice?"  
  
"..."  
  
" _Fuck_ , I ask them to prepare a strong bodyguard and I get a _doll_."  
  
"..."  
  
A kick to the ribs. Ronaldo watches the unfolding scene with young eyes.  
  
"What's your name, _boy_?"  
  
"...dric."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"...Cedric..."  
  
*  
  
[ **end** ]


	3. Chapter 3

☆ **NEBULA** \- burst! two ☆   
★ the _ghost of jupiter_ ★  
  
*  
  
Isolated from the rest of the world thanks to encompassing poisonous oceans and gurgling hidden volcanoes, the Hassen Kingdom builds upon itself to establish a superpower to be reckoned with.  
  
Siobhan didn't think of anything when she joined the conscription for the so-called Knights of Hassen, except for wanting anything to do aside from gathering rubbish in the wasteland for the trained alchemists to transform into useful materials.   
  
It's definitely not because of her childhood friend joining as well.  
  
...Okay, so maybe there's curiosity involved. Curiosity in witnessing how the man's future would shape the world, because there's no question that Heins is _strong_. Strong enough to stand atop the remains of the war-torn world. Strong enough to defend the things he wants to protect. Strong enough to make everyone submit to him.  
  
Siobhan doesn't think she's weak, but it's because of her strength that she understands Heins' capabilities.  
  
"—willing to sacrifice everything for our future?"  
  
Siobhan blinks unnatural green eyes. She almost panics when she doesn't remember for a brief moment where she is. Almost. She remembers it just as quickly—recalls the high ceiling and the plush carpet and the elegant furniture.  
  
"Yes," she replies, her voice is heavy but her heart isn't, because she is lying and isn't at the same time. She is willing to sacrifice everything for a worthy cause and this country's future is too small a reason for her to throw her life away. Assisting Heins become the centerpoint of the world's threads, however...  
  
She is given a spot immediately—a rarity, she's been told—thanks to her "inspiring performance" at the placement test. It figures that managing to tame the wild monster called the Red Spider will earn her respect and awe.  
  
She's far from satisfied. If someone like her is given the title of Tenth Strongest Knight, then this army's standards aren't that special.  
  
But—  
  
She feels her cheeks warm when she sees Heins' name listed in front of number '4'.  
  
This... should be better than okay.  
  
*  
  
He has no interest in babysitting kids that haven't managed to make the cut, but there's something special about this job, supervising over recruits' training, criticizing gaping errors in their movements and praising the ones who do well.  
  
It's like there's a certain power in honing these recruits, because he knows that there'll be one or two of them who will certainly blaze their way through the rankings.  
  
The newest number 10 doesn't look like she'll lose her steam anytime soon, unlike the previous occupants of her post.  
  
He, as a member of the Hewitt family, has always been secure in his life, but seeing Siobhan's drive is somewhat energizing. Of course, he's aware that there's apparently talk of Siobhan being Heins' follower and Heins is a really special case and scandals will always surround brilliant people.  
  
There's also a promising trainee under his wing: Nina Hawton, an aggressive girl whose attacks resonate well with ice-element stones in the research center. He's considering giving her a recommendation to the Hassen Committee, but he's leaning towards letting her participate in the review next year. After all, her talent is still rough around the edges and Hewitt is looking forward to polishing her more.  
  
Babysitting kids doesn't sit well with him, but sculpting new weapons... It's definitely one way to look at it.  
  
*  
  
Psi flops down on his bed after another round of grueling training. He wishes everything would just _end_. If that's too much to ask, maybe his life can just end. He's not picky—after all, it's painfully obvious that he's only here because he's the other half of the prodigy Fon.  
  
Or more truthfully, he's the spare power supply of his immensely powerful but absurdly fragile twin brother.  
  
While Psi's above-average physical resistance to the elements is considered laudable, it's the only good thing one can say about him. His appearance leaves much to be desired, what with his coarse, shaggy hair and permanent scowl and his uncoordinated limbs. His psychic powers are too unreliable, because his mind's strength is just not up to par with his unprecedented power reserves.  
  
They keep him here—even though he'd rather study alchemy to help fortify the fortress against enemy attacks—because he can support the always-sick Fon. They extract his psychic reserves from him and transfer it to his twin, but the process is painful and inefficient and it just ends up on frying his mind. But nobody cares, as long as Fon is unharmed.  
  
Fon, Fon, Fon—why is everything about him?  
  
He has been number nine not long ago and now he's at the top five, even though he can't even go out of his room in fear of contaminating his lungs, even though he can't even walk from his bed to his bathroom without collapsing midway.  
  
Psi hates it, hates how Fon is so physically weak and how everyone is preying upon him and how he's *weak* and can't even help his twin escape this place.  
  
He wishes everything would just _end_.  
  
*  
  
"Hmm, hmm, hmm~♪"  
  
He removes his tie in an swift move, but it's still elegant—sophisticated and refined, like all things related to him—elegant and oh-so-perfect. He considers folding his sleeves up, but then decides no, rumples and folds in his clothing is not elegant at all and what would they say?  
  
Not that they can see him now though, in the middle of the night, with all of his servants dismissed and sleeping in their shackhouses, with everyone but the looming darkness as his guide.  
  
His steps are careful, because a gentleman is always slow and deliberate, classy with every little sway of his hips and every little tilt of his head. Oh, it doesn't have anything to do with triggering the various alarms set-up like spider webs on the floors of the hidden research laboratory.  
  
"So it's _you_ ," the third strongest knight of the kingdom gasps out, voice reaching his ears even though there's already a gag in-between those unsightly bloodied lips.  
  
He doesn't reply, because he's busy dancing to the tune in his head, because he's busy preparing the things he'll need to deal with this noisy-noisy-noisy girl.  
  
"How can you do this to the Kingdom?" Tracy's words are dripping with venom and oh, how he longs to use that same venom to drown her in eternal suffering.  
  
"Hmm~♪" Nobody would know, right? If he just adds another line of scars across her back~? "Hmm~♪"  
  
"Answer me—"  
  
"Ah, she's out," Louvier realizes with mild surprise. He didn't think that the third strongest knight will be knocked out that easily. All he did is kick her bleeding neck to the left and now she's already unconscious. How fragile, how fragile, how fragile.  
  
It's good that's out for the night though, he can't sleep with the thought of some annoyance awake while he's busy dreaming of music and science and how he'll use those to end this farce of a kingdom. It's unforgiveable how they all expect him to act soft and mellow and aristocratic, just because of his ( _dead_ ) family's legacy and just because he so happened to be a prodigy when it comes to music.  
  
Unforgiveable.  
  
He'd rather use his skills to study their little cells and protruding muscles and magnificent brain matter—but no! Oh, they imprison him here, tagged with a worthless number even though he's much, much, much powerful.  
  
Will they find out~?  
  
He wants to bask in the limelight of awe dyed with fear, but no, it's not yet that part of the plan so he'll have to content himself with ripping out each orange hair strand out of her scalp.  
  
Oh, he can't wait until they realize that a Louvier the Seventh Knight managed to kill their precious Third~♪  
  
*  
  
Synch doesn't remember his origins. Synch only remembers bits and pieces of conversations—spoken in words that Synch hasn't learned yet—only recalls snatches of feelings far apart.  
  
Synch doesn't know a lot of things, so Synch makes up for it by learning even more, so nobody would notice the parts where knowledge is lacking.  
  
Synch doesn't know who is the culprit regarding Tracy's death, but Synch wants to know.  
  
Synch's strength lies in the specialized frontier of thought detection and brainwave resonance, an ability that nobody else in the Kingdom of Hassen has demonstrated. It makes Synch special. It makes Synch the only one who can solve the mystery behind Tracy's eyes that will never open again.  
  
Synch resonates with the other Knights and can feel nothing but _chaos_. If chaos is indictive of lying then everyone is a culprit for Tracy's torture and death, but Synch has to distinguish between the different displays of internal turmoil.  
  
Synch sees the clear white cloak surrounding Heins' heart, and Synch declares Heins clear of the investigation. The other knights are displeased, but they don't look too unhappy with Heins' special treatment. The other knights probably don't even suspect Heins a little bit—and for a good reason. Synch thinks that Heins is going to become their leader soon, since Heins is the most likely candidate to fill up Tracy's abandoned post.  
  
Synch doesn't like how there's no war that involves their kingdom and yet they have a casualty already.  
  
Synch focuses golden eyes to look at the current leader, Andrei. Like Heins, there's also an envelope of white upon his persona. But Synch can sense something there—inside those unassuming brown eyes? inside that gentle smile?—that speaks of turmoil greater than anyone else's.  
  
Synch doesn't like it, but he declares Andrei clear as well.  
  
He makes a note to do a follow-up investigation on their current leader afterwards, but right now, finding out who had the greatest motive in taking out Tracy is the top priority.  
  
*  
  
A talent that is only present at the farthest outlier of studies and researches. He _is_ that talent, but that thought only brings him despair, further pushing down on his bed, further sapping physical strength from his frail body.  
  
He wonders whether his body will cease functioning soon, wonders whether his worshipped powers are enough to surpass the need for physical existence, wonders whether his strength is enough to protect the one person he holds dear.  
  
Fon easily senses it, Psi's anger, doesn't even need his advanced powers to understand that encompassing loathing.  
  
It makes him uneasy, the way he knows something about Tracy's sudden departure from this world. It's part of the burden of having extremely strong Branch of Thought—the extensive invisible structures larger than the main castle, as though to compensate for his body's feebleness.  
  
It makes him uneasy, because he knows that he can't say anything, not because he's afraid of what they'll do to him once they find out, but because he knows that they know he knows already. Because he knows that they know that he _needs_ them.  
  
It makes him uneasy, knowing that he can only rely on Louvier's unorthodox research methods to find a way to protect his beloved twin once he disappears from this world without trace.  
  
*  
  
a blank slate;  
  
a pure white;  
  
a strong power;  
  
he is heins;  
  
*  
  
Tracy's funeral is held on the Grand Hassen Dome—with her coffin in the middle of the architectural network—with her coffin empty because the little of her body parts left by the murderer is still in the forensic investigation laboratories, still unable to rest after being subjected to test upon test to determine the identity of her killer.  
  
Everyone in the Hassen Kingdom is there, even people who haven't talked with the deceased Knight. The Emperor doesn't even have to make it a compulsary attendance—everybody went, out of their own accord, dragged by their own curiosity, chained by their own fear for the kingdom's future.  
  
An imposing castle in the middle of the collision of the plates of Australian Continent and numerous Pacific Islands, the Hassen Kingdom is one of the physically smallest forces in the entire world. The loss of its third-ranked Knight is a sign of weakness, a sign of a crack in the kingdom's fairy-tale future.  
  
The Emperor says words that comfort the masses, words that promise divine justice on the murderer that took away a cheerful, powerful knight from the kingdom.  
  
But the painful truth is... the killer is still grinning, still on the loose...  
  
*  
  
They ask her with teary eyes, "Why are you not crying?"  
  
She doesn't reply, because replies are useless to people who already have their own answers. Instead, Suey brushes past them, ignores the outburst of chatterings, and goes to the training hall.  
  
It's been three weeks since Tracy's death, but she hasn't cried yet. Even if Tracy is her most important question. Even if Tracy and her shared a feather-soft kiss before Tracy retired for the night that day.  
  
There's no use thinking about how different would things be if she persisted to part Tracy's lips then, if she convinced Tracy to let her stay over at her room. There's no use thinking about possibilities that could have given fruit to a future where Tracy is still there—in her black soldier garb, an ideal assassin that can blend in to the night if not for her brilliant orange hair.  
  
There's no use regretting.  
  
Suey dedicates her time to polishing her sword almost obsessively, to make it so clear that she can't even mistake the reflection of her blond hair to be orange, to make it so clear that she can't even hope to see the reflection of a genuinely smiling face.  
  
She has always been strict with her training routine—the number two bestowed to her is not for show and is not due to any favors to the higher-ups—but she's now more dedicated than ever. Her days start at three in the morning and end at twelve midnight—filled with swing upon swing of her magic-strengthened sword and cross upon cross of her magic-filled fingers.  
  
"Why are you not crying," they ask.  
  
Tracy wouldn't have wanted her to cry. She doesn't have time to cry.  
  
After all, time used up by crying can spent on more productive things.  
  
Like hunting the murderer down.  
  
*  
  
Andrei is aware how everyone resents the way he remains to stand over them, while doing absolutely nothing in his lavish throne.  
  
He is very aware and that makes him _happy_. To know and understand and predict the thoughts and feelings of his fellow humans, without assistance of the Branch of Thought—! It's an inexplicable feeling.  
  
Nina is working hard to impress Hewitt into writing a recommendation for her. Siobhan is practicing day and night to catch up to Heins' level. Hewitt is developing an enjoyment out of guiding the new recruits into a better ranking. Psi is being consumed by his conflicting emotions towards his twin brother. Synch is exhausting his power in order to properly decipher the resonances connecting with his own. Fon is hastening his plans to keep his twin safe and secure no matter what happens. Heins is adamantly not allowing himself to get too attached to anything that can chip away at his growing strength. Suey is wearing her body down in order to avenge her beloved Tracy.  
  
Louvier...  
  
"You called~?♪"  
  
"How is the research on Tracy's psychic matter going?" Andrei's tone doesn't betray any interest whatsoever. He lets out a delicate yawn, as though everything is tiresome and he just wants to sleep. Not that it isn't completely true—his desire to rest is strong but he'd rather do it once he finished all the things he's supposed to do.   
  
"Everything is going according to plan," Louvier relates with unbidden glee, fingers twitching, as though he's too excited to resume the tests on the extracted psychic matter.  
  
"Make sure to allow Fon's signature to penetrate your research lab." Andrei's command is soft but firm, but to anyone who knows his true nature, it's a command that has no room for any hesitation.  
  
Louvier swallows his protest with long practice, because it's been nearly two years since he has joined forces with Andrei. He's already aware of Andrei's likes (the list is thankfully short) and dislikes (the list contains practically every imaginable thing). Questioning any order is not even categorized as a dislike—it's a sure way to earn yourself death within the next ten seconds.  
  
"Getting Fon's psychic matter will greatly speed up our research," Louvier says instead. He disagrees, since that brat's immature psychic matter is definitely not one of the top resources they can tap into. And Fon has that unhealthy degree of attachment to his twin who hates his guts. He loathes to admit it, but it's certain that Fon has developed a way to make sure that a huge portion -if not all- of his powers will be transferred to the undeserving Psi.  
  
"A change is coming," Andrei murmurs with an air of certainty; it's as though he has seen the future's canvas already, "and then it's time for me to rest."  
  
'Rest' definitely equates to working from the shadows; Andrei has already decided long ago that getting bedridden while holding on to a high rank will suit his purposes well.  
  
This kingdom, along with the other budding powers in the world, are supported by underground shadows buried by layers of earth. He isn't really doing anything _that_ bad—after all, Hassen Kingdom is already doing so well on piling up dirt upon its name without anyone's additional help.  
  
Andrei smiles serenely, aware that it brings chills to his helper's spine.  
  
He can't help but want the change to happen soon.  
  
*  
*  
*  
  
He licks his lips, stepping back so he can admire his masterpiece in all its splendor.  
  
Out of the corner of his eye, he spots one head loll to its side lifelessly. He bites his lip, carelessly, and bitter blood fills his mouth. After spending close to thirty minutes just to make sure all 108 of the Royal Council is posed prettily... one head dares to defy him?!  
  
He moves one step forward and that one step takes him from the lowest circle—where a Royal Council member can go on and on about his thoughts on how to better this rotting kingdom—to where that one head dare to follow the laws of gravity rather than his fancy.  
  
His mood soured, he places a finger over the man's ugly forehead and without even blinking, he blasts off the corpse into nothingness. Of course, if one wishes to be technical, it's not really nothingness where the corpse lands, but the person is dead and therefore cannot protest anymore about the technicalities and semantics of his vanishment.  
  
To an outsider, it will look like a moment frozen in time—with all of the Royal Council members participating in a short moment of closing their eyes at the same time. There's no droplets of blood, no contortions of agony, no signs of violence. There's no abnormality here—unless one considers the lack of corrosive insults and cumbersome arguments abnormal.  
  
He already finished the _visits_ to other nations and organisations in the Old Asia, so maybe it's time for some well-deserved rest. He tries to make his job more exciting by giving himself more challenges in killing his targets—this time, it's to kill all 108 Royal Council members in under three minutes, without any blood—but everything gets boring really quickly.  
  
He wonders if he should take the risk of angering his teammates by leaving behind a mark to signify their organization's involvement in this massacre. He fingers the cloudy black ring with their organization's name encrypted—NEBULA—but places it deep inside his pocket in the end.  
  
There are better ways of getting a rise on his teammates, after all.  
  
"Kingdom of Hassen, secured," he murmurs to the hyperspace connection attached on his earring.  
  
"...Good work, Daisuke. Return to the base immediately so our Master can set up the alternate reality sphere."  
  
He whistles appreciatively. He really can't get enough of seeing the way their Master's ability works; watching a room filled with corpses be transferred to another dimension and be replaced by replicas that will not be detected even by the strongest Branch of Thought—it's nothing short of pure amazing.  
  
"As you wish, Milady ♥" Daisuke laughs at the sputtering of the very male mission coordinator on the other side of the line. Daisuke prepares to take off from the scene of the crime, but stops short when he remembers a name in the hit list.  
  
—Andrei.  
  
He wonders whether it'll be interesting to see that worm writhe worthlessly on the ground now. He wonders whether letting him live now will lead to a more interesting future.  
  
"Bye-bye, Hassen Kingdom."  
  
 _Welcome to Nebula's hands._  
  
*  
  
[ **end** ]


	4. Chapter 4

☆ **NEBULA** \- burst! three ☆   
★ the _witch head_ ★  
  
*  
  
Getting a punishment because of insubordination is something that's to be expected. It's something that she can accept without any qualms. However, getting punished because of some splotches of blood landing on dark crimson roses is just absurd—!  
  
"You've been warned enough," the Knave mutters sullenly, obviously displeased with the way she's trashing around.  
  
"It's only that one line from Fifth," she rolls her eyes at the memory. Instead of resting in the infirmary along with the other normal soldiers and the elite Alices, she's here in the punishment hall, even though she's definitely the one who took out most of the enemy forces!   
  
The Queen didn't even give her a chance to change her clothes to something more fashionable. Granted, fresh blood indeed looks flattering upon her pale skin and stockings, but it has been _hours_ since the Dragons have called a stalemate (what stalemate? it's obvious that _she_ 's winning!) and retreated to their dorky mechanical castle. Dried blood doesn't complement her look as much and oh, she'll make that Queen pay for subjecting her to this embarrassment!  
  
As though sensing her murderous thoughts, the Queen herself comes down to the punishment hall—well, that's not exactly true. If the Queen has sensed her less-than-pleasant musings, she wouldn't have come down here. Unless that cheating Looking Glass predicted a good future for the Queen, which is just _ridiculous_ because she's much stronger than the Queen, no matter how you look at it. She's an _Alice_ , for fuck's sake!  
  
"You may leave," the Queen dismisses the Knave with a gentle twirl of her fingers.  
  
Seventh Alice hates the way the Knave suddenly changes from his meek, sullen character to a practically-drooling soldier at the sight of the definitely-not-that-pretty Queen.  
  
"So, my dear Seventh," the Queen's voice is sweet like honey. Seventh _hates_ honey. "Who gave you permission to trash my courtyard, hmm?"  
  
*  
  
"So how did your punishment go?" Fifth asks with a leer that is not known to a lot of people.   
If she's not sure before, she's very certain now—that bratty Fifth is _aware_ of her strange relationship with the Queen. Normally she wouldn't let this go, but today she's tired and she just wants to rest.  
  
"Fuck off," she snarls instead, dragging her feet down the hallway.  
  
*  
  
Who is she, really?  
  
*  
  
She lets them pin electrodes over her forehead, on her elbows, on her fingers. There's a bulky helmet being lowered down on her head, giving her a spark of irritation of what the thing would do to her hair.  
  
They perform another batch of the so-called memory optimization, a process that sounds great in theory, but is controlled by too-many scientists who probably experience an orgasm or two with the thought of being able to manipulate one's memories.  
  
All of her fellow Alices acted strangely after the first batch of memory optimization—and there are definite breaks in their memories. Even a witch like her isn't so sure that the entirety of her memory is intact; it _feels_ complete, but she can't underestimate the mad scientists.  
  
"Commencing memory optimization in 3... 2... 1. Operation start!"  
  
Idly, she wonders whether she manages to resist the memory wipe because she doesn't have anything she doesn't want to forget.  
  
*  
  
She doesn't even bat an eye when Fifth suddenly appears in front of her one day, an amused look in his eyes. She considers warning Fifth to turn off his crazy eyes if he doesn't want his reputation as cute schoolboy to be thoroughly ruined; she drops that thought immediately because she really can't be assed to do so.  
  
She just finished her mission and frankly, she's still raring to go.  
  
"How does it feel," Fifth whispers against the blood on her cheek, even more effective than any blush-on that cosmetic companies can produce.  
  
"Fuck off," she says, but she closes her eyes and allows the deceptively young and saccharinely sweet Alice to straddle her.  
  
This betrayal—  
—feels _amazing_.  
  
*  
*  
*  
  
"With this, even the Witch is our pawn," Daisuke murmurs gleefully as he observes the way the Seventh Alice's eyes are glazed over. It's both interesting and exhalarating to watch her that submissive.  
  
"Her power is dangerous." Thier has made his stance on this development known ever since the plan's conception, but he doesn't seem to mind repeating it again and again. "She's a _witch_."  
  
Witches are known for having exceptional reserves in dark psychic matter, after all. One wrong move and the Seventh Alice will destroy a lot of the threads in their plans.   
  
"If we're talking about dangerous, it's the Fifth that we should watch out for," Daisuke's grin is sadistic and there's no doubt that he's mentally replaying the surveillance video captured by their standard stealth security system.  
  
Thier is not impressed. "A brat after your own heart."  
  
The Fifth's charismatic smile is present on all of his photos, but there's definitely a sinister side to him—an Alice with a body failed by the new technology—a harrowing edge to his actions. Daisuke is so obviously intrigued by someone so similar to him—the lying manipulative _bastard_.  
  
"But it's not fun at all if we ensnare him too," Daisuke's fingers dance their way to Thier's face, "right, milady?"  
  
Thier's absolute shield is at its highest level when Daisuke is around. Daisuke doesn't seem to care about the way the shield is chipping away at his skin, the putrid smell of burning flesh making Thier wrinkle his nose in distaste.  
  
"You're such a killjoy," Daisuke complains accusingly, pulling back his fingers. His flesh is regenerated in a flash, thanks to his special ability. Thier wonders if he should upgrade his absolute defense program so he can deter his the older man from violating his policy about personal space.  
  
Beep-beep-beep.  
  
Thier takes a couple of steps back, a light flush on his face. He pulls up the latest emergency surveillance report and he doesn't need to tell Daisuke about the findings.  
  
The popular scientist's remains are missing from the Department of Integral Research's chambers.  
  
*  
  
[ **end** ]


	5. Chapter 5

☆ NEBULA - burst! four ☆   
★ the dark horse ★  
  
*  
  
It is fascinating, to see that different people would react vastly different from each other when asked with a simple request.  
  
— _Describe me_.—  
  
*  
  
Second Alice will not be able to say anything substantial now, because his memories have been broken and pierced together and shattered once again, over and over that it's a miracle if he even remembered his own gender.  
  
*  
  
Third Alice and Fourth Alice have already started on their eternal journey to the underworld, gruesome deaths at the hands of a remorseless, soulless Second.  
  
*  
  
Sixth Alice was chosen a month after his arrival to the program and now she is too, dead.  
  
*  
  
Seventh Alice will surely have a lot of things to say about him—most of them curses, a few of them true. Seventh is one of the few who has witnessed the side that he keeps well-hidden and actually survive. (Not that she survived because of her own merits, it's more like he's tired of not having a playmate and she makes the most interesting reactions.)  
  
She will make corrosive comments about how he's more of a snake than any other poisonous modified reptile in his collection; she will make sardonic statements regarding how his adorable boyish appearance is a huge bag of bastardly deception.  
  
*  
  
Eighth, Ninth and Tenth Alice arrived at the same time to the program—but only Ninth survives until now. He had such high hopes for the Eighth Alice who displayed an almost unholy light in his eyes when subjected to the sight of fires incinerating enemy territories to the ground.  
  
Ninth is too much of a simple, brash person to actually suspect anything behind the smiling face that is front of him. If asked, Ninth will probably complain about the allergies he gets from his monster pets. Maybe get sidetracked a bit at how a young brat like him should respect his elders, even if he entered the Alice Program much earlier. But no, it will be completely off, despite Ninth's unmistakable insight when he befriended the ice-cold Second years ago.  
  
*  
  
Contrary to the other Alices who have lived their lives within the mountainous borders of what was once (in an era separated by a gap of hundreds of years) called 'North America', he experienced living in other places before being chosen as an Alice.  
  
Even though he was only five when the fifth war broke out, he didn't experience much difficulty living during those times. His family is influential and well-known after all—his father is still considered a valuable military resource for his contributions in the fifth and sixth wars.  
  
He has experienced living in what was once just an eroded area surrounded by oceans poisoned with chemicals that came from the earth itself. The Hassen Kingdom has only been on its weak beginnings then, with nobody strong enough to lead the abandoned people into building a home that will protect them not only from the encroaching enemies, but also from nature's wrath.   
  
He was there when his father brought him along for a diplomatic talk. His older sister kept on teasing him about being sent to Hassen Kingdom as a diplomatic prisoner from their country, the current superpower. He didn't think his father would bother disposing of him in that wasteland, not because he believed in familial love, but because he didn't think he had enough value as a diplomatic tool. It was true, back then.   
  
As an envoy from the Association of Aster-Aersburg, as representatives from a nation that had a fervent and noble wish uniting everyone to avoid the breakout of a seventh world war, they had special treatment then—the only ones with masks and suits to protect their bodies from the psychic matter's unknown radiation that are rumored to kill a person after a week of chronic exposure.   
  
From the displeased smile of his father, he knew, even from back then, that a seventh war was already inevitable, because the Hassen Kingdom was already lying about the newly-discovered psychic matter. While it was true that chronic exposure weakened a person greatly, they didn't mention anything about gathering the anomalies—the ones who instead grew much stronger and more resilient after being exposed to the new particles.  
  
It was then where he met—though, rather than a meeting, it was more of a literal crossing of paths—a person with an empowering aura. Unlike all the other civilians who looked haggard and desperate, unlike all the other civilians who were scrambling for the food rations, *he* was smiling in absolute _boredom_. That person was obviously older than him by a few years and he was obviously lacking in training with his newfound (not even his family knew...) power—but in that moment when they passed each other, it definitely showed: the inequality between their capabilities that couldn't be bridged by any amount of time or training.  
  
Despite the overwhelming difference in their power, he felt a similar tug between the two of them. As though their cores were the same after all. The feeling passed quickly, but it was something that he continued to remember even as years wore down plundered land and built upon rising kingdoms.  
  
That man, still adorned by the indescernibly bored smile, grew to become the face of the elite Hassen Knights.  
  
*  
  
In a move that surprised everyone that had half a mind to pay attention to the way the tides of power shifted and transferred, the Association of Aster-Aersburg joined the flimsy cooperative alliance of United Alliance of Free States. He was ten when it happened—he was ten and in the middle of his violin lessons when he heard of the news. His father was one of the main proponents of the alliance and there was no doubt that the UAFS had no choice but to accept the strongest and largest superpower in their alliance.  
  
He was ten when he learned that he would be sent to the Kingdom of Wonderland as part of an advanced, scientific research disguised as an international treaty.  
  
*  
  
He was ten when he first met Alice.  
  
Alice who was the face of scientific revolution with her unparalleled genius and creativity when it came to designing new methodologies and new inventions. Alice who was so popular that an entire project was named after her, even if it wasn't even her main project. Alice who was working to cure the plague caused by the newly-discovered psychic matter.  
  
He was ten when he first met Alice.  
  
*  
  
They reassured him that there would be no negative side-effects, that there would be no troubles at all. They reassured him that the method to study the usage of the same corrupt psychic matter to remove the infection was tried and tested before. They reassured him that the first batches of experimental subjects were all stabilized and definitely alive.  
  
—Until now, he doesn't know on who is—or who are—that pitiful First Alice.  
  
*  
  
It is fascinating, to see that different people would react vastly different from each other when asked with a simple request.  
  
— _Describe me_.—  
  
He asks this of every single person he invites to his lavish home that bears no signs of being an ornate prison.  
  
*  
  
As a noble from the Association of Aster-Aersburg and as the current-strongest Alice in the arsenal, the Kingdom of Wonderland can't dispose of him. His father and his sister and his mother might all be enemies of this kingdom, but that makes him all the more worthy of being a prisoner.  
  
As the only person in the kingdom who has been exposed to every type of psychic matter out there, he's a valuable soldier. This is why nobody bothers to point out his eccentricities, why nobody dares to get in his way, why nobody braves to stop him in his _quest_.  
  
*  
  
He prefers to have his playthings ( _victims_ ) killed in his own home, where they can gasp and writhe at the sight of the family portraits that encompasses the ceilings and enriches the walls of every single room in his family house, see the smiling politician that is his father, see the gentle features of the professor that is his mother, see the vibrant sparkle in the eyes of his sister that is an influential actress, see the terribly well-adjusted and picture-perfect family that is his.  
  
(Even if they're all enemies from another kingdom far away.)  
  
Where they can strain to find the difference between 'before' and 'after' in his smiles and find that there's no difference at all between the man smiling in all of the portraits and the man slitting their throats with violin strings.   
  
*  
  
He laughs at the absurdity of it all—when he sees the distinguishable navy-blue uniform of the Knights of Hassen. He spits at the '5' in the middle of his attacker's forehead, but since he's laughing too hard, he only hits the other's nose. He laughs even more when the Knight doesn't even flinch or blink at the saliva hitting him on his face.  
  
"According to our acquired intelligence," Synch recites mechanically, brandishing a sword that's really just a tuning fork that can alter sound waves. "The culprit behind Alice Lutwidge's death is definitely _you_ , Leonardo Torres!"  
  
His smile vanishes, a direct reaction to hearing his name be called out after spending years of only listening to its symphony while he's sleeping.  
  
"I think it's your information network that's faulty," he muses, snapping his fingers together to call upon the majestic Gryphon and the stealthy Cheshire. "Andrei isn't completely _there_ , if you know what I mean."  
  
Synch shows how much the scientists that made him hated a sense of humor because he doesn't even twitch when their previous number one is insulted... quite deservingly so. Instead he takes out a chunk of evergreens that the Queen is fond of with one small arc of his sword; it's a good thing that he's already expecting Synch's power to be sound-related so he jumps without hesitation to a distance that won't be reached by the intense first strike.  
  
Really, are all these groups dumb?  
  
Alice Lutwidge is practically this kingdom's _God_. There's absolutely no way that they're involved with her death. On the other hand, the country she betrayed with an invention that was never meant to achieve anything... and then there's the person she betrayed by taking advantage of the love towards her...   
  
He's sure of it: they are the only ones who had reasons to kill her, the only ones strong enough to have killed her.  
  
After all, Alice Lutwidge is the original Alice.  
  
*  
  
Synch has certainly improved since the last time they clashed. But then again, that had been years ago and Synch has since then rose in the rankings as a Knight of Hassen. Now, all of his beloved pets are either deleted from this world or are gasping through their final minutes. It's been a long time since he fought with someone with that much age difference to him. He tends to forget that he's still just a child compared to the older corrupt politicians and the artificially-enhanced 'immortalized' soldiers.  
  
With all seriousness, Synch straddles him, and places a mechanical hand around his neck.   
  
_Squeezes_.  
  
"I've always wanted to say something," he gasps helplessly, with focused half-lidded eyes of someone who's at the doorways of death. The older man nods; judging from the faint tremor of his lithe body and the glimmer of emotion in his robotic eyes, he obviously feels some spark of pity towards the child about to die.  
  
And that's the only opening he needs.  
  
Without the monster pets that have become his trademark, Synch thinks that he's defeated.  
  
But he's wrong.  
  
"I've always wanted to say," Fifth Alice says in a grandiose prelude, before he focuses his *real* power on the metal-alloy wrist holding him by his neck, "I'm not left-handed."  
  
*  
*  
*  
  
"This will cure you of your disease," Alice is cheerful, a burst of light in a room filled with morose adults and failed tests.  
  
"...I'm not sick," he repeats slowly, because it's the truth. His father always tells him that there's something wrong with him, but it's not this disease, he's sure. He doesn't feel the weakness they're describing, doesn't feel the lose of control in his mental faculties. Linda always teases him about being an alien, but it's not this plague, he's sure. He doesn't feel any more powerful or any weaker than yesterday, or the day before.  
  
Alice's smile is wide and Leonardo can't find a tint of lie there. His father and his mother and his sister all had the unpleasant tones of lying in their voices, but Alice doesn't have that. She wouldn't lie, would she? He's a member of the Torres family and she seems so nice. "Well, we'll see about that, won't we?"  
  
"You're really soft with kids," a young man casually says as he walks up to Alice. His eyeglasses are shiny, almost eerily so. 'Thier', his identification card reads, hanging from about two meters away, written in small letters. How strange. Has his vision always been this good?  
  
"Not really," Alice's voice is clouded by something that Leonardo can't pinpoint. It's as though she'd like to disagree with more choice phrases, but she's stopping herself. As though there's an instance where she's been anything but soft regarding kids. "So, what's your power, Leonardo?"  
  
He will become an Alice if everything works out well. He's not sure whether he wants that or not—being an Alice means being a slave to the Queen with the awful laugh and even more awful eyes, but not being an Alice means being sent to participate as part of the Dragons with his sister.  
  
He closes his eyes, focuses on generating the power brimming around his body ever since psychic matter became the only thing people can chatter about. He opens his eyes, a surge of pride in his chest when he sees a literal spark in front of him.  
  
"It's electricity, Miss Alice."  
  
*  
  
[ **end** ]


	6. Chapter 6

☆ NEBULA - burst! five ☆   
★ the little ghost ★  
  
*  
  
Despite the amount of details she pays to her appearance, she doesn't really care about the state of her apartment. It's not something she can call home, because her real home was destroyed ages ago, not by war, nor by soldiers, but by her own parents' ambitions.  
  
She's working as part of the Dragons, a group that prides itself as leading an armed revolution intent to protect the United Alliance of Free States' goal of having a world without wars and ill intent. It's all bullshit, of course, because if anything, it's the Dragons that is at the root of all the world's troubles.  
  
Linda has to admit that there's a certain charm in the idea—making a utopia where everyone can live past their differences, survive through the difficulties and trust to not turn their backs on each other—but the execution is flawed since the very beginning. In her mind, her father is the worst person to start an organization working for a paradise.  
  
Luciano Torres is charismatic, true, but lying is the root of all charm and Luciano is the epitome of a lying bastard. She's not without her flaws, yes, but she has yet to find a man that is more twisted than Luciano—and she has met a _lot_ of men. Sure they ended up dying, but that's the world for you.  
  
She's been working as part of the Dragons for the past years of her life, but it's a good thing that she hasn't encountered her father or her brother ever since she joined. She's confident she can take her father head-on (with room for error due to his dirty tricks) but she's not really looking forward to receiving punishment and prison time for that. Plus, Ronaldo is attached to her father, so her father's death will cause Ronaldo to cry, and when Ronaldo cries tears of sadness, Cedric is there to make the culprits cry blood until they bleed to death.  
  
Her brother is a different type of problem—he's definitely not as strong as Cedric, psychic power-wise, but people that are consumed with insanity cannot be measured that easily. News of Synch's death has reached their headquarters minutes after it happened and judging from the state of his alloy-strengthened armor, there's only one Alice capable of causing such damage. She's torn between feeling proud of her younger brother's strength and feeling fearful for her brother's grip on sanity.  
  
He hasn't been a very stable person, even when they were young, after all.  
  
*  
  
Linda Torres—a world-renowned actress. Her songs have been the salvation of countless people plunged into despair; her presence has been the light through the hard times.   
  
But Linda's life has always been enshrouded in darkness, trapped in heavy-curtained rooms because her body isn't strong enough to handle all the types of unidentified psychic matter, because she isn't like her brother who has an unparalleled talent when it comes to naturally controlling psychic matter.  
  
She throws away all of her past belongings once she's accepted as part of the Dragons—throws away all but one.  
  
She keeps the wall-sized family portrait, keeps it hidden in her bedroom.  
  
It's the only thing left of her home.  
  
*  
*   
*  
  
Contrary to what anyone might think, to what Daisuke might say, she knew all along.  
  
Knew all along when she received a single red rose in the middle of all the vibrant, extravagant bouquets from other patrons and admirers. Knew all along when she went to the address scribbled elegantly in the card that came with the red rose. Knew all along when she touched the red rose and felt its thorns—a flower that was popular in Middle Ancient History hundreds of years ago but completely extinct now.  
  
"That's definitely a flashy way of getting my attention."  
  
Only choice people knew about her interest in horticulture after all. Only choice people would expect her to immediately recognize a flower that shouldn't have existed in their era. Only choice people would have managed to slip something possessing sharp thorns to her room of thoroughly-inspected gifts.  
  
"I'm glad that my gift has caught your attention, as simple as it might have been." Daisuke smiled then, in that careless way of his, in that disarming way of his. "It was a tough choice."  
  
To anybody else, receiving a gift from the most sought-after bachelor Prince in the land is the highest compliment, worthy of a fainting spell or two. Yes, Linda felt faint then, but it was for an entirely different reason. She wasn't terribly close with Daisuke, but she could sense the bloodthirsty snake that curled around each and every smile he made.  
  
"Oh? Care to tell me what your second option was?"  
  
Knew all along that she would lose in their clash. Knew all along what was Daisuke's personality like. Knew all along how her intensive training wouldn't be enough to combat the true potential of something that was worthy of being a First Alice.  
  
Daisuke's smile grew diamond-sharp.  
  
"Oh, you know. It was either that or your mother's severed head."  
  
Knew all along that she was losing each and every thread that connected her to her family. Knew all along that Daisuke never truly joked. Knew all along that her mother's head was sitting in a jar somewhere and her brother didn't know and their father didn't care.  
  
"I wonder, how did you know I was one of the first-generation Alices?"  
  
Knew all along.  
  
"It's your lucky day today," Daisuke went on to a different topic then, as though he already got his answer just from twisting her head to the side painfully. "You get to be the first of our pawns!"  
  
Knew all along that she would be taken away from the life she wanted to grasp in her hands the moment she let her brother go to the Alice Institute that failed to learn that creating people like Daisuke will never be a bright idea.  
  
"...Welcome to Nebula, Linda."  
  
She knew all along.  
  
*  
  
[ **end** ]


End file.
